Ashes, the Rain and I
by TiTivillus
Summary: Coda to 10x12 About a boy. What if Hänsel had turned Sam into a teenager instead of Dean? Protective!BigBro!Dean. Teen!Sam. Slight AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Ashes, the Rain and I

**Summary:** Coda to 10x12 About a boy. What if Hänsel had turned Sam into a teenager instead of Dean? Protective!BigBro!Dean. Teen!Sam. Slight AU.

**Warning:** Rated K+ for language and violence

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters or the show… Just playing around.

**Author's note:** The title is the name of a song from the James Gang (it's the song that's played in the beginning of the episode). The picture for this story belongs to the amazing artist Petite Madame.

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**Ashes, the Rain and I**

Dean could barely hear the dial tone over the sound of his pounding heart.

Gnawing nervously on his lower lip, he paced the parking lot of the dive bar, all the while listening to the mechanic beep on the other end of the line.

"_Hey, this is Sam. Leave a message after the—"_

"Goddamnit, Sammy…" Dean ground out in frustration when his call went straight to voicemail for the fifth time in a row.

He had tried to contact his little brother for about an hour now and so far his efforts had been to no avail.

All different kinds of scenarios had played out in his mind about what could have made his brother drop off the radar like that, but he couldn't come up with anything that would excuse a total radio silence, especially considering that they were in the middle of a hunt.

It just wasn't like Sam to do something so irresponsible.

They had an unspoken rule about always picking up the phone when they were splitting up on a job.

Because if there was one thing that sent Dean's protective streak into overdrive, it was a little brother who didn't respond to his calls and could be, for all he knew, in a potential life-or-death situation.

Dean closed his eyes, carefully massaging his temples in an attempt to calm himself down, before he made a bee-line for the entrance of the bar.

It was remotely crowded for a work day and the air inside was smoky and stale with the scent of human bodies and beer.

Somewhere in the back, classic rock blared loudly through the sound machine and Dean thought he had been right when he said that this kind of location was right down his alley.

Too bad Sam had taken up on his hesitancy to talk to the locals and made the offer to question the bar patrons himself while Dean had stayed back.

The kid had always been too damn' perceptive for his own good.

And now that his little brother wasn't reacting to his calls, Dean couldn't help but think that if only he had been a little bit more adamant about doing the questioning himself, _he_ would be missing now instead of Sam.

A scantily clad blonde strutted by him, winking at him in a silent prompt to follow her to the bar, but Dean turned her down with a curt smile and a shake of his head, unable to focus on anything else but his missing brother.

As tempting as the gold locks and the sinfully long legs might have been, Dean knew he would never forgive himself if anything was to happen to Sammy while he was philandering with some no-name girl in a run-down bar.

So instead he turned towards the bartender- a bulky guy with messy dark hair and a scruff beard, who was currently downing a shot of Whisky behind the bar.

"Hey, uhm...you wouldn't by any chance, have seen a guy about this tall—" Dean lifted a flat hand into the air to indicate his brother's ginormous size. "Long shaggy hair, kinda like an overgrown puppy?"

The bartender looked at him as if he had lost his mind, bushy eyebrows scrunched up in obvious annoyance at having been interrupted at his private drinking session.

"Dogs aren't allowed in here," he grunted, reaching out to prepare another drink for himself, Whisky sloshing over the rim of the shot-glass.

Dean snorted, lips twisting into a mirthless smile.

Guy thought he was funny.

How cute.

He leaned in close enough to make the guy squirm, eyes turning fierce and demanding in the span of a second. "Alright let's try this again, buddy. You see him, or not?"

"What if I did?" the bar tender rebuked in a snappish tone and Dean's fingers tightened on the man's wrist until he saw a glimmer of pain in his glassy eyes.

The guy's gaze flickered down to the counter top of the bar and Dean's heart skipped a beat when he followed it, spotting Sam's phone between various bottles of alcohol and a bowl with pressed lime juice.

The sight sent a spark of anger through Dean's veins.

Grabbing the guy by the shoulders, Dean slammed him up against the shelf of bottles behind them, eliciting a shocked squeak of protest and getting right up in his face.

A bottle of gin smashed to the ground with a loud splatter, shards of glass and clear liquid scattering across the tiled floor.

"Now listen up you _son of a bitch_ cause my patience is wearing a little thin here... That phone on your counter?" Dean snarled, gritting his teeth. "It belongs to my _kid brother_\- the shaggy haired, tall guy I was talking about earlier, remember?"

The guy nodded frantically, breath going faster than before.

"Now you're going to tell me what you did to him, or this will turn ugly real quick."

It was hard to keep his voice down and Dean really had to fight the urge to just bash the guy's face in, but eventually his efforts to keep his composure paid off when the bar tender finally sputtered a shaky explanation.

"H-he went outside, man, I didn't do anything to him..."

Dean jostled the guy a little harder, ramming him up against the storage shelf for emphasis. "The_ phone_! Where did you get it from?"

"I-I found it outside by the dumpster with some other shit- clothes and s-shoes… I swear!"

Dean slammed a flat palm against the wall in anger at coming too late.

"Damnit!" he swore trying to calm the quench the pulsing rage in his chest and then turned towards the bartender with a final warning. "You better be telling the truth."

Taking a step back, he whirled around and grabbed Sam's phone before heading for the exit.

As soon as the cool night air whipped against his skin, Dean broke out into a run, heading for the row of garbage containers behind the building.

"Sam!" he yelled, turning in a half-circle as his eyes frantically scanned his surroundings for any sign of his absent brother. "_Sammy_!"

Apart from the mountains of trash littering the ground, Dean didn't notice anything out of the ordinary until his attentive gaze suddenly latched onto a wayward shoe that lay partly hidden beneath a dumpster.

Pulling it out from beneath the container, Dean easily identified the footwear as his brothers' and dropped it back to the ground with a worried sigh. "Shit, Sam… what the hell have you gotten yourself into, this time?"

Right next to the shoe, Dean found his brother's discarded clothing- the cheap dark blue FBI suit Sam had worn before they parted ways.

He straightened up again, driving trembling fingers through his spiky hair before turning back towards the Impala, when a slight commotion at the other end of the parking lot caught his attention.

As he moved closer, the shadowy silhouettes of two people came into focus, their voices loud and angry, seemingly fighting over something.

Dean's eyes narrowed when he noticed that one of the two was a young boy, who was clearly upset about something, his voice rising with panic as he tried to make the other person understand.

Knowing he couldn't just turn his back on a potentially dangerous situation- especially if there was a kid involved- Dean swore under his breath and tucked his gun back into the waistband of his jeans.

"Hey!" he called out over the distance, jogging up to the kid and the older man who stood right next to him. "Everything alright over here?"

The dim light of the street lanterns wasn't strong enough to illuminate the boy's face, but Dean was still able to make out huge, unblinking eyes from behind a curtain of tousled bangs.

And despite the overall crappiness of the situation- with Sam being missing and all- Dean couldn't help the small smile that settled on his lips at the odd resemblance the boy had to his little brother.

Crouching down, Dean sent a glance back over his shoulder to the scruff looking guy with dirty clothing, before letting his watchful gaze resettle on the frightened kid.

"You okay?" he asked in a soft tone, a strange sense of protectiveness washing over him. "The guy give you any trouble?"

"I ain't giving no one trouble, man- this little bastard just tried to highjack my freaking car!" the guy slurred, swaying lightly on his feet.

Even from where he was sitting on his haunches, Dean wrinkled his nose at the distinct reek of alcohol coming from the guy's clothes.

Dean raised an eyebrow, staring questioningly at the dark haired kid in front of him.

"That true, kiddo?"

For all intents and purposes, the boy didn't look like your typical small-time criminal whose favorite past time activity was auto theft.

From what Dean could tell the boy's clothing was a little too big on him, dark hoodie sitting loosely on his thin shoulders and his washed-out jeans was a few centimeters to short around his ankles.

He was wearing hand-me-downs, Dean figured, which meant there probably was a family somewhere around.

And judging from the look of fear and confusion on his young face, he wasn't used to stealing either. Even though he seemed capable of it.

No, this kid was no criminal. Not even a petty one...

He just looked like an innocent teen who grew up in a shitty environment and Dean could relate to that.

"Hey, I'm talking to you…" he urged when the kid refused to answer his question.

Shrinking back from Dean's demanding tone, the kid bumped up against the navy blue Honda he had apparently tried to steal and his eyes went even wider as he frantically scanned the area for a way to escape.

"No I d-didn't—" he uttered in a small voice and Dean almost cringed at the sound of it, feeling that prickle of familiarity in the back of his mind.

"I didn't do anything, I s-swear…"

Dean's eyes narrowed, his pulse kicking up a notch.

_He knew that voice..._

Feeling the overwhelming urge to comfort the boy, Dean moved a little closer and raised his hands in a placating gesture, not wanting to spook the frightened kid even more.

"Hey it's alright. Nobody's gonna hurt you. Even if you did try to steal that car- and we don't know that yet—"

"Like hell you we don't! I caught the sneaky lil' bastard red-handed," the guy snarled, taking a threatening step forward and Dean practically fumed with anger when he saw the kid flinch back in fear.

"Maybe I ought to teach the brat some manners—"

Dean snarled- honest to god _snarled_\- at the stranger as he shot up from the ground and squared his shoulders, building a solid front of muscle between the frightened boy and the moron who was stupid enough to think he could make a move on him.

Grabbing the guy by the lapels of his army jacket, Dean pulled him close enough to see his pupils widen in fear.

"You touch one hair on the kid's body and I'll kick your sorry ass six ways to Sunday. He's off freaking limits, you understand?!"

The guy nodded his understanding, writhing and twisting uncomfortably in Dean's iron grip. "Alright, man I get it, I u-understand…"

"_Good_."

With a last warning jostle to the man's shoulders, Dean shoved him back, causing him to stumble and lose his balance as he fell to the ground.

Dean snorted and shot the man an angry glower. "Drunk ass like you shouldn't be driving anyways..."

On second thought, Dean grumbled under his breath and pulled his FBI badge from his jeans pocket, flipping it open. "You know what, why don't you give me your driving license while we're at it?"

Because letting this completely jagged asshole get back into his trashy car was like standing by and watching a Wendigo rip somebody's throat out and Dean had no intentions of letting that happen.

Chances where high this guy would cause an accident and kill himself or others in the process if he tried to start up a car in his condition.

"Y-you can't do that… I did-nn't even drive anywhere…" the drunk retorted.

Dean's expression grew stony. "Buddy, I'm from the Feds, I can do whatever the hell I want. And if I have any say in the matter you'll never drive_ anything_ ever again. Now give me your license and the keys to this car or I'm gonna take you to the next police station and leave your drunk ass to rot in a freaking cell, you get me?"

The guy hastily pulled his battered license and car keys from his jacket and handed them over with a pinched look on his face, before bailing from the scene.

Watching after the guy as he scrambled off towards the entrance of the bar, Dean turned around once more, reverting his attention onto the scrawny boy who reminded him so much of his younger brother, only to find him suddenly gone.

The spot where the kid had stood only seconds before was now vacated and Dean's heart leapt in his chest at realization that the kid must have bailed in the few minutes his attention had been elsewhere.

"Goddamnit, I don't have time for this…" he muttered under his breath.

Every fiber of his being wanted to get into the Impala and floor the gas pedal, getting away from here and focusing on the task of getting his brother back, but there was an inexplicable need to find that boy and make sure he was alright first, that Dean couldn't really explain.

For some reason he felt incredibly protective of the kid he had only just met and couldn't bear the thought of him staying at this god-awful place all by himself surrounded by scanty women and low-life thugs in the middle of nowhere.

Swearing lowly under his breath, Dean pleaded silently for Sam's forgiveness, hoping his impromptu search operation wouldn't cause a big delay in his quest to find his brother and get him out of whatever trouble he was in.

But in his heart he knew that Sam would never want him to put his safety over the one of an innocent child.

There was no question about that.

Which made his decision a little easier.

"Hey, kid! Where the hell did you go?" Dean barked out, jogging from one end of the parking lot to the other, his watchful gaze sweeping over the darkened area in hopes of finding that shaggy brown mop of hair somewhere in between cars.

Finally his eyes caught movement at the line of trees bordering the cemented ground to his far left.

Slowly backing away from the entrance of the bar, Dean crept up to the patch of greenery without trying to make too much noise.

The leaves were rustling in a foretelling whisper and Dean ducked through a draping tree brunch, hand going for his pearl-handled revolver.

He didn't mean to startle the boy even more than necessary by pointing a gun at him, but the fact that they were theoretically still working a case here and that Sam had been reduced to a pile of discarded clothing not even two hours ago had him automatically reaching for his weapon.

But his hand grasped at nothing, the familiar feeling of steel missing from where it should be against his back.

Dean closed his eyes and locked his jaw in frustration.

How the hell had he missed someone stealing his fucking gun from his jeans?

"Looking for this?" a shaky voice had him whirl around, facing the barrel of his own gun from where the kid stood hidden in the trees' shadows.

"Whoa, hey…" Dean raised his palms in a clear gesture of '_I-mean-you-no-harm'_, marveling about how deftly this boy had managed to pull a number on an experienced hunter like himself.

Clearly the kid was way more capable of taking care of himself than Dean had given him credit for.

"Why don't you give that back to me and we have a chat, huh?" Dean calmly urged, taking a step closer to the boy.

He was halted in his movement the next second, when the kid's frame tensed and his finger cocked the hammer of the gun back with practiced ease.

"Yeah I don't think so," the kid snapped back, none of the previous shakiness left in his voice.

He sounded determined now and his aim was unwavering. "Where did you get this gun from?"

Dean blinked at the unexpected question, frown creasing his forehead even as he stilled his movements.

He had the sneaky suspicion that there was a lot more to the kid than he had first thought.

It was probably wise to tread lightly with the boy if he didn't want to get his head blown off…

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you, alright? Give me my revolver back and we can talk this out—"

Dean was cut off by the sharp sound of a gun firing, bullet zipping through the air and lodging itself deeply in the ground right next to where he was standing on the muddy earth.

Gasping in shock, Dean automatically jumped to the side, heart leaping into his throat at the unexpected weapon's discharge.

"I asked where you got this gun from!" the boy demanded, voice cracking slightly with emotion.

Dean slowly raised his frantic gaze to meet the boy's eyes, breath going fast and heavy at very nearly having been shot by a freaking kid.

"Tell me _now_, or the next one's going through your knee."

Okay… Dean had to give it to him, for a freaking baby the kid had guts.

Dean was starting to get a little pissed off by the boy's behavior.

"Alright, _tough guy,_ that's enough. Why don't you—"

A second shot rang out and this time Dean felt a sharp ripple of fire where the bullet nicked the flesh on his calve.

"Gah- _fuck_—" he gasped, staggering slightly when his muscles trembled from shock and pain.

"_Where._ Did you. Get this from?" the kid repeated, the words hacked off as if that would somehow make his question easier to understand.

Dean clamped a hand over the bleeding flesh wound on his leg, squeezing his eyes closed while he tried to ride out the pain.

He bit his lower lip, taking a deep breath before looking up at the freaking little bastard that had shot him through a hazy veil of agony.

"My father," he pressed out curtly from behind clenched teeth. "It was my old man's. He gave it to me when I turned—"

"Seventeen," the boy finished his sentence for him and Dean's eyes grew wide with astonishment.

How in the world did the little shit know that?

"What was your father's name?" the kid further questioned in a rushed voice.

Dean swallowed past his pain and straightened up a little, narrowing his eyes at the kid in suspicion.

The prickling sense of déjà-vu he had had from the second he had first seen the shaggy haired kid at the parking lot flared to new life and went into overdrive.

"John," Dean gave back slowly, taking a limping step forward. "His name was John."

The kid's aim wavered, his shoulders sagging a little as his breath audibly caught in his throat.

"What kind of car was he driving?"

And then it finally clicked.

Dean's confused expression smoothed out into his slow smile, his heart filling with warmth and his eyes going soft at the realization that the trembling boy in front of him was not just a random kid from the streets.

This was the kid he had raised.

This was_ his_ kid…

Dean swallowed before answering in a low voice. "A black Chevy Impala 67. Best ride anyone could ever hope for."

When the boy gasped out a choked-off sound between a laugh and a sob, dropping his arm to the side and taking his aim off his approaching form, Dean knew with absolute certainty that the kid was nobody else but his brother.

"Sammy," he rasped out and that was all it took for the boy's careful resistance to crumble.

"_Dean?"_ the younger version of his brother croaked, voice catching on his brother's name even as he shot forward and wrapped his scrawny arms around Dean's waist, burying his face in his older brother's chest. "Oh god… please tell me it's really you."

"The one and only," Dean murmured a little dumbfounded at holding a young version of Sammy in his arms.

Sam pulled back a little, squinting up at Dean with brimming eyes. "What's going on, Dean- why am I here? And how- I mean- why do you look like that—"

"Slow down, dude. One question after another, alright?" Dean muttered softly in response to his brother's nervous rambling and ruffled the kid's silken tufts of hair.

His own pulse was racing at the absurdity of what was happening, but he didn't have any answers to Sam's questions either.

In fact, he was equally as clueless about what was going on as his little brother.

The cool autumn breeze chose that moment to pick up and gust around them with renewed force, causing Sam's small frame to shiver against his big brother's side.

Noticing the light tremor that wrecked the kid's frame, Dean pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around Sammy's quivering back, causing the boy to look up at him with glistening eyes. "Thanks."

He seemed to draw a deep-rooted comfort from that one simple gesture of motherly care.

Apparently the small act of tenderness was the ultimate proof that the gruff-looking adult in front of Sam was truly his big brother.

Dean gave him a soft smile. "Don't mention it. Old habits die hard, you know?"

Sam's lips trembled slightly at the corners, eyes shining with a mixture of emotions as he fell forward against Dean's chest once again and tightened his skinny arms around his brother's back.

Dean bit back a pained hiss when the momentum of the hug was putting too much strain on his injured leg, but he wrapped his arms around the small frame of his brother's back all the same.

Sam seemed to catch his choked-off sound of discomfort despite his best efforts to suppress it and pulled back from the embrace with a guilt-riddled expression.

"Oh god, Dean- your leg… I'm so _sorry_—"

Dean's palm slid down to the base of his kid's neck, squeezing it gently in reassurance.

"Just a flesh wound, Sammy. Don't worry about it…"

"I thought you had stolen it because it looked so much like my brother's," Sam hastily explained, motioning towards the gun in his grip. "How should I have known—"

"Hey," Dean calmly interceded, knowing Sam was getting worked up over their whole situation and talking himself into a frenzy. "Don't sweat it, okay? We got other things to worry about right now- like whatever the hell turned you into a freaking ten-year-old—"

"I'm fourteen," Sam corrected with an annoyed glower. "And I didn't get _turned_ into anything."

Ahhh... there it was. The classical Sammy-bitchface.

Dean frowned at his brother's response. "Wait. What do you mean? What's the last thing you remember?"

Sam shrugged, saggy curtain of bangs obscuring his eyes from Dean's sight.

"I was in the library reading up on the lore about Kelpies for Dad's latest case, when there was this bright light and next thing I know, I'm waking up on this parking lot in the middle of freaking nowhere…"

"And then what? You decided to steal a freaking Honda? Seriously- Sam, I taught you better than that…"

Sam snorted, shaking his head. "You were the one who showed me how to do it, Dean."

"No, _I_ showed you how to steal _classy_ cars- not some half-functioning rust bucket…"

Sam snorted. "Right. You know I was a little too pre-occupied with freaking out over the fact that an invisible force teleported me from a library in Wyoming to a parking lot in bumfuck nowhere to be thinking about the type of car I was going to steal."

"Right... well you should get your priorities straight if you ask me," Dean snickered softly as he limped forward, Sam right by his side as they slowly moved away from the small patch of wood and towards a flickering street lamp.

Leaning back against the lantern and breathing heavily through the agony the small walk had caused him, Dean looked down to meet his brother's guilty gaze.

"I'm really sorry for shooting you…" Sammy apologized once more and it was easy to see that the he was still beating himself up for having caused his big brother pain.

Dean cupped the kid's cheek with a calloused palm, gently brushing his thumb against Sammy's unnaturally soft skin. "It's just a scratch, Sammy. I've had worse than that."

It was the first time he caught a good glimpse of the kid's face and his heart almost came to a full stop at the absurdity of staring at his baby brother's fourteen-year-old features, all young and innocent, bright eyes shimmering in the dim glow of the dirt crusted light bulb.

"What about you, that guy didn't touch you, did he?" Dean asked in a fierce whisper, lifting his brother's chin a little to scan his face for visible injuries.

Because so help him god, Dean was going to go back inside that bar and make the drunkard wish he was never born if he put a single bruise on his brother's body.

"M'fine," Sam assured with a small blush at his brother's mother-henning, trying to shrug Dean's fingers off. "Could've whooped his drunk ass with my hands tied behind my back."

"That's my boy…" Dean chuckled softly, satisfied with the fierceness that resided within his kid brother, beneath layers of cute dimples, puppy-dog-eyes and bashful innocence.

Because Sammy might have been scrawny for a fouteen-year-old, but he sure as hell wasn't defenseless.

Sam blinked and squirmed under Dean's proud gaze and just like that the moment was broken, Dean's hand falling away from his brother's face.

"So you're actually your fourteen-year-old self?" he asked slowly, throat constricting at the thought. Because if this wasn't the Sam from his timeline- where the hell did his thirty-one-year-old brother go? And how would Dean be able to get Sam's younger self back to his own universe?

Snorting at his own bizarre trail of thoughts, Dean shook his head. Only in their lives, something like meeting your fourteen-year-old little brother from the past would be part of their daily routine.

Sam nodded his head, hair flopping loosely from side to side. "I guess… I mean… how old am I supposed to be?"

Dean offered up a wry smile, knowing this next part was not going to please his little brother.

"Thirty-one… but look, don't worry okay? We'll figure this out and get you back to your own timeline."

"You realize how crazy that sounds, right?" Sammy asked on a shaky exhale, eyes still transfixed on Dean's older appearance and tracing all the visible changes his brother had undergone through the years.

There were little crow-feet at the corner of his emerald eyes and wrinkles on his forehead and a small fading scar across the cheek that Sam had never seen before.

When Dean noticed his staring, he looked a little sheepish, verdant gaze falling to the ground in something akin to mild embarrassment. "Dude, quit it. I know this is weird, but we'll figure it out, okay?"

Sam found himself nodding automatically, because even if everything else about his brother had changed over the years, the urge to trust his big brother with his life was just as strong as ever.

No matter what the hell was going on here, Dean would take care of him and make things right- just like he always did.

Sam knew that without the flicker of a doubt

"It's just…" he halted himself, rubbing the back of his hoodie-clad neck a little sheepishly. "You're about Dad's age… and you just look so—" _old_. Sam bit his lower lip before the word could slip from his tongue.

But Dean heard it all the same, his expression morphing into one of offense.

"Hey! I'm thirty-six, okay? And that's _not_ old. It's… it's not even anywhere near _old_…" Dean protested weakly. "Dad was _way_ older than that when you were fourteen."

Sam chuckled softly at his older brother's stubborn response, finding a hint of familiarity in Dean's horrified expression and the way he refused to acknowledge his own age.

"You sure about that? Cause I swear with the way I could snitch that revolver from your pocket, it almost seemed like you got a little rusty in your old age—"

Dean huffed before pushing himself away from the lantern and continuing his staggering walk towards the spot where he had parked the Impala.

Sam easily fell into pace beside him.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a smartass?" Dean taunted, elbowing the scrawny kid lightly in the side.

"Yeah? Well you are a jerk."

Dean swallowed, mouth going dry and eyes filling with unexpected wetness. He had almost forgotten how easily he and Sam used to joke around like that when they were still younger.

It was easy to fall right back into the familiar back-and-forth.

"Bitch," the quick-fire response rolled off his tongue with an ease that came from years of praciced brotherly banter and Dean found himself wallowing in a strange sense of nostalgia until Sam's gasp of surprise snapped him back to the present.

"What is it?" Dean wanted to know as he opened the door of the Impala with the tell-tale rusty creak.

His brother ran his fingers over her shiny hood with appraising eyes, before lifting his gaze to look at Dean. "She looks just like… before."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Of course she does. What'd you expect?"

Slipping behind the steering wheel of his baby, Dean waited for his little brother to close the passenger door before looking the kid in the eyes.

"What happens now?" Sam asked a little insecurely, squirming a little in his seat.

Dean sighed. "Now we find who- or whatever did this to you."

"And then?" Sam wanted to know, looking up at his older brother with expectant eyes.

"And then we do what we do best," Dean offered him his trade-mark grin before starting the engine of his baby with a loud roar. "We kick it in the ass."

**The end (?)  
**

* * *

_I know, I know... I shouldn't be starting any other stories while so many of my WIPs are still unfinished. (to my defense- the 4th chapter of Tainted is almost complete and will be posted soon ;)) But after I watched the last episode I just couldn't resist. Because I loved young Dean, but I would have loved young Sam even more. In my crazy mind, the interaction between a grown-up, gruff Mark-of-Cain plagued Dean with an innocent, younger version of Sam would have been PRECIOUS. And baaam- here we go... yet another side project in the making... :P Please - as always, tell me what you thought! :) Should I continue? Should I leave it as it is? The choice is yours! ;)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Ashes, the Rain and I

**Chapter 2**

* * *

About halfway to the motel, Dean had to stop the car and take a break from driving, because the constant flexing and relaxing of muscles from using the clutch was putting too much strain on his injured leg.

"You okay?" Sam asked from the passenger seat when Dean pulled the car over onto the side lane and killed the engine.

In the golden shine of the street lamp, Sam's face was scrunched up with concern as he inched closer to Dean on the leather seat of the Impala.

"It's getting worse, isn't it?" Sam asked in a low voice.

Swallowing, Dean tried to ignore the throbbing ache that shot through his bleeding calve at the merest of movements and offered his brother a reassuring smile.

The last thing he needed was for Sam to freak out over this when the kid was already guilt-ridden enough for having shot him earlier.

"I'm fine…just a little tired," he pressed out, hoping the lie would appease the younger boy until they reached the motel and could fix his leg up for good.

He should have known better, when all he got was a soft snort in response.

"You're full of shit," Sam murmured, causing Dean's eyebrows to shoot up.

"_Excuse me?_" Dean frowned, but instead of an answer, Sam opened the passenger door and climbed out of the Impala. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

Sam rounded the car and flung open the driver's door without wasting any time. "Taking over," the kid explained, holding out a flattened palm and wriggling his fingers expectantly.

Dean blinked up at the kid's determined expression in complete puzzlement. "You mean as in—"

"I mean as in _driving_, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Want me to spell it for you? Cause I will, if that means you quit staring and hand over the keys already."

Dean's forehead furrowed in annoyance. "Okay, wait a second there, Evil Knievel. In case you have forgotten—"

He gestured towards his younger brother's considerable scrawny body before continuing. "You are _fourteen_. Which means you are nowhere near the legal driving age."

Sam had the audacity to laugh at that.

"Okay, first of all- since when have we ever given a crap about _legal_?" Sam's eyes narrowed and Dean instantly knew the argument was lost before his brother had even started hauling out the big guns.

The little shit had always been good at arguing, throwing facts at Dean like arrows, precise and down to the point.

"I've had my first fake ID with _12 _and you've started drinking with what— 16? And apart from the small things—Identity and credit card theft, hustling, impersonating FBI officers – any of that ring a bell?" Sam shook his head, auburn strands of hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at his shoes with a rueful smile. "Illegal, is kind of what we do, Dean. So don't freak out over me driving, alright? Not when you're in pain."

Dean sighed.

He had almost forgotten what it was like to face off with a pissed off teenage Sam in bitch-fight-mode who had set his mind on something.

The kid had a point for sure, but Dean wouldn't give in that easily.

"And what if somebody sees you, huh? What will we tell the police if they catch a freaking kid behind the wheel of a car? Not even taking the fact into account that I'm shot. What if they sick CPS on our asses on top of everything else?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders as if he wasn't concerned about that possibility at all, -as if the mere idea that somebody could snatch him away under Dean's watch was ridiculous.

"You'll think of something," the kid explained softly, his voice full of trust as he gazed up at his older brother from behind a tousled curtain of hair.

When Dean still hesitated, the kid sighed heavily and looked around the vacant road passage in front of them. "You said the motel was just another 15 minutes, Dean… I promise we'll be careful okay? Just… "

"Just what?"

Sam met his gaze with a perceptive intensity that only his brother could muster, wide eyes slicing through every single layer of defense Dean had ever built up around himself seeping through to the core of his heart.

"Just…" Sam bit his lower lip, gaze dropping to the ground for a second before he looked up again with regained confidence. "I've been watching you wince and grimace for the past 20 minutes, Dean and no matter if you're 30 or 65-years old, I know you well enough to see signs of pain when I see them. So you're going to give me these keys and you're going to let me drive, or I'm not getting back in the car. Period."

Dean stared at his fourteen-year-old brother in total silence, eyes widened slightly with incredulity and mind trying to formulate a response.

Sam held his gaze defiantly until Dean finally gave in with a grumbled "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

He slid over to the passenger seat, hissing when the flesh wound on his leg got jostled, sending another spark of fire through his body.

"Okay?" Sam asked him, immediately freaked out over his big brother's pained hiss of discomfort and Dean wanted to slap himself for having let his composure slip.

"Told you I'm fine..." he grouched sullenly. "Let's just get this over with before I think better of it."

At that, Sam slid behind the steering wheel and turned the engine with a single-minded resolution and Dean couldn't help but shake his head at so much stubbornness.

When it boiled down to it, Sam hadn't really changed all that much over the years.

And in a way, Dean was glad about that, because as much as he used to complain about Sam's strong will and stolidity, he had always admired these particular traits about his brother's character.

Even as a kid, the boy had always known what he wanted, never taken no for an answer.

Always pursued his dreams.

And Dean was proud of this kid- was proud of the man Sam had grown into, even if the fourteen-year-old currently squirming on the seat next to him didn't know he would turn into a salad-eating, long-haired sasquatch in unforeseen future.

When a few seconds passed and Sam still didn't show any signs of getting the car started, Dean started to frown. "We've done this before haven't we?"

He honestly couldn't remember when he had let Sam drive his baby for the first time.

But it must have been somewhere around his current age.

Whether it was before or _after_ the Kelpie hunt they did with John back in Maine, Dean had absolutely no idea…

The only thing he knew was that – _thank god_, Sam had been quite the natural when it came to driving, which meant no matter how little experience he might have at the moment—Dean had no doubt his little brother would be able to get them back to the motel with a little guidance from him.

"Sammy?" Dean prompted when his earlier question was met with silence.

Sam bit his lower lip, looking a little insecure now that his original burst of determination had simmered down. "We've… I mean, we've_ kinda _done it before… "

Dean frowned, tapping his fingers against his jeans in a clear sign of impatience. "So... we're good to go, then?"

His leg was hurting and they needed to get behind whatever the hell had done this to Sammy and on top of everything else that was going on right now, the goddamned mark had started itching again- which was about the last thing Dean wanted to deal with right now.

His day had already been stressful enough, without him having to quench the omnipresent bloodlust that pulsed through his veins whenever he became distracted enough to let it.

Now with the mark driving his urge to _hurtsmashdestroykill_, and a fourteen year old kid—Sammy—sitting behind the wheel of his baby, Dean felt about ready to blow up with tension, skin crawling with the need to move.

But Sam wasn't moving; he just kept staring at Dean as if waiting for directions.

"I thought you said we've done this before."

"We have, okay?" Sam protested, fidgeting in his seat. "Just never on the road…we tried in the parking lot behind the some rundown motel. That's hardly the same."

Dean let out a sigh, before bestowing Sam with an intense look. "It's _exactly_ the same, Sam. Now c'mon, I'll guide you through the process. Unless you want us to switch places again that is—"

"No!" Sam hastily responded. "No, I mean- it's okay. I can do this."

"Alright, listen…" Dean instructed with a smug smile, turning his body towards Sam. "Handbreak first, then you put her into first gear. Fire up the ignition. Slowly release the break, while pushing on the gas at the same time. You'll feel the slight forward momentum when you reached the magic point that gets baby going."

"Now that just sounds dirty…" Sam muttered with a grimace as he tried to follow his big brother's instructions. Then almost as if in afterthought, Sam shot him a quizzical look. "Hey which one is the gas pedal, again?"

Dean's eyes widened and his face turned pale, before he started fumbling with the handle of the passenger door. "Aw, hell no. That's it! _I'm_ driving us back."

"I'm kidding," Sam cackled softly, eyes twinkling with the kind of childish mischief Dean hadn't seen in his brother's gaze for way too long now. "Just kidding, relax… I know which one's the gas."

Dean continued to glare at his little brother, not amused by the joke because it had been on his baby's account.

"Sorry… " Sam sent him a half-apologetic look, his own glee wearing off at the sight of his brother's grim expression before he flicked the keys and started the engine, the low rumble of the Impala breaking the tension between them.

The first two tries to get the car running were a bummer, with Sam using too much gas and choking off the engine as a result, but just when Dean was about to doubt his own memories of Sammy being a natural at driving, his brother finally got the hang of it and eased the black Chevy back onto the empty road.

After that the rest of the drive went relatively uneventful, with Dean giving Sam directions and advice about when to shift gears or how to hold the wheel.

At some point during the drive, when a particularly vicious burst of irrational edginess took hold of him, Dean squeezed his eyes shot and swallowed, hand going automatically down to the spot on his lower arm where the Mark was setting his skin on fire.

"You okay?" Sam glanced over with concerned eyes, his voice gentle and sympathetic as if he somehow instinctively knew he needed to tread carefully around Dean right then.

The Impala swerved slightly and Dean hastily reached out to steady the wheel, keeping them from slipping onto the lane with the oncoming traffic.

"Damnit, Sam. Eyes on the fucking road!" Dean snapped at his brother and then regretted the harshness of his words the next second when they caused Sam to flinch back and looked at him with obvious hurt in his eyes, visibly embarrassed by his dangerous slip-up.

Clenching his jaw, Dean blamed his lack of composure on the pain and blood loss that came from getting shot instead of the influence the mark held over his actions.

That didn't stop him from feeling guilty, though.

After all, Sammy wasn't used to driving.

It was normal for him to make mistakes.

And on top of that, he had no clue what was going on with the mark. The kid didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of his anger.

In fact, nobody did.

But Dean was a ticking time bomb ready to go off. And sooner or later somebody was going to get hurt because of him. It was only a matter of time.

"I'm sorry," he sighed after a few seconds of tense silence between them. "That was uncalled for, I shouldn't have yelled…"

"No it was my fault..." Sam pressed his lips together, but didn't take his eyes off the windshield this time. His fingers were wound around the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were turning white.

"What's up with you?" the teenager asked after a while, spotting the soft yellow neon glow of the Motel sign that lured them closer from the distance."You seem… different..."

Dean snorted softly, rubbing a hand over his beard stubble.

His little brother had no idea what he- what **_they_** had been through the past 20 years of their lives.

He didn't know about their father's death, or the demon deal, or the demon blood pumping through his veins, or the freaking Apocalypse.

Hell, the kid had no clue his life would turn out to be even more of a nightmare than it had been back when he was still in his teens.

And if Dean had any say in the matter, Sam wouldn't find out about it either, not for a long time.

"I guess I'm bound to be a little different from my 18-year-old self, Sammy. It's called growing up, you know?" he offered up with a humorless smile when Sam steered the car onto the parking lot.

"Yeah but it's more than that," the younger brother gave back quietly and neither of them knew where to take the conversation from that, so they stayed quiet instead.

Sam pulled up in front of their motel room, switching off the headlights as he let the engine idle, the soft purr of the Impala thrumming through the otherwise silent night.

He looked unconvinced by Dean's answer, mouth slightly opened and about to protest, when Dean dug the room key out of his pocket and tossed it into his little brother's lap, not giving him a chance to say anything else.

Because the kid was perceptive and clever enough as it was, no need to give him further food for thought by letting something slip about the mark.

Opening the passenger door, Dean couldn't help the grimace as he dragged his injured leg over the metal frame of the car and made contact with solid cement for the first time in half an hour.

"Le'mme…" Sammy was by his side the next second, taking hold of Dean's arm and wedging his scrawny body beneath it, until his narrow shoulders were holding up some of his big brother's weight.

Dean staggered slightly and hissed in pain, trying not to shift too much weight onto Sammy's fourteen-year-old self because the kid's small frame seemed so much more fragile than the six-feet four inches tall mountain of muscle his brother presented nowadays.

If Sam noticed his hesitancy, he didn't say anything as they made their staggering way towards the motel room.

"You gotta lay of the burgers, dude," Sam panted softly, struggling under Dean's weight, as he pushed the door open. "You've gotten heavy."

Dean huffed out a shaky exhale as he used the doorway to support himself, releasing Sammy from his heavy cargo. "Yeah well, you're one to talk, Hulk Hogan…"

Sam's eyes lit up with excitement at the jab, a slight smirk creeping onto his young face. "Dad was right then, wasn't he? I'm gonna be taller than you?!"

Dean rolled his eyes and hobbled towards his bed, not dignifying the question with an answer.

"Oh my god, I am!" Sam exclaimed gleefully, flopping down on the bed next to Dean and bouncing with excitement. "By how much am I taller?"

"By nothing," Dean griped back, even when he couldn't quite hide a smile of his own at his brother's exuberant reaction to the fact that he was going to grow into a beanstalk.

Trust Sammy to find the silver lining in a situation as fucked up as theirs.

"It's barely recognizable, so don't get all smug about it, alright?" Dean chided in a tone that was half amused-half annoyed.

Sam gave him a shit-eating grin, clearly not believing his attempted brush-off for a second.

Shaking his head, Dean lightly shoved his brother's bony shoulder, urging him towards the bathroom. "Go and make yourself useful, Samantha. First aid kit's under the sink. Get some towels as well."

Instantly growing serious again, Sam gave Dean a tight-lipped nod before scampering off to the bathroom. He returned a moment later, hugging to threadbare towels, the first aid kit and a glass of water to his chest.

Dean straightened up with a bit-off groan and leaned against the headboard until he felt gentle hands against his injured calve, causing him to tense up and go still.

"These jeans need to go…" Sammy concluded, motioning towards the blood-drenched fabric that clung to Dean's leg like a second skin. "Got your knife on you?"

Sliding a hand beneath his pillow, Dean pulled an ivory-handled dagger from beneath the bedding and held it out towards Sam, who snitched it easily from his grasp and proceeded to cut tattered jeans fabric from his older brother's leg.

"Careful," Dean warned when he felt the tip of the blade against his skin, but Sam only shot him an annoyed bitch face that clearly translated to _'Shut up, I know what I'm doing'_ or some variation of that.

Sam peeled away the remains of his jeans to reveal the jagged slash that ran across the lower half of Dean's calve and was still bleeding sluggishly, despite the makeshift tourniquet Dean had tied around it earlier.

Sam sucked in a quick breath at the sight; finger's shaking slightly until Dean covered one of his trembling hands with his own, causing the boy to look up at his big brother with no small amount of insecurity shining from his watery gaze.

"It's okay," Dean comforted in a gruff voice, not wanting Sam to relapse into a surge of self-reproach over having shot him. "It looks worse than it is, alright? Stop beating yourself up for this."

With a shaky nod, Sam turned back to the task at hand, fingers no longer shaking quite as much as he reached for the bottle of antiseptic and some gauze.

_'Good boy'_ Dean silently praised in his mind, encouraging his teen brother with a small smile, despite the sharp sting of pain that came from having the wound disinfected.

"Sorry…" Sam murmured in a rushed breath even as he continued to hold the soaked pad of cotton against the flesh wound.

Dean clenched his fingers into fists and squeezed his eyes shut against the torturous burn of the antiseptic until the pain subsided again.

"'s'okay…" Dean pressed out between clenched teeth, knowing he had to hold on for what was about to come next.

"You need some Whisky for this part?" Sam asked gently, as if reading his thoughts.

And maybe it should have been a weird question to come from the mouth of a four-teen-year-old.

But it really wasn't.

"Nahw, 'm gonna be fine…" Dean rasped out, thinking about the bottle he had drained three states from here and never replaced with a new one.

A decision he regretted dearly in that moment.

But seriously, who could have known he would get shot by a fourteen-year-old version of his little brother?

"You sure?" Sam asked, voice wavering slightly and Dean didn't know whether it was with emotion or the vocal change that came as a side effect of puberty.

He pressed his lips together, sending another fleeting glance at the flesh wound in his calve and then at the needle in Sam's hands.

His kid brother shouldn't have to do this.

Sewing him back together like some rag doll and driving a car when he wasn't even big enough to see over the steering wheel.

But this was their life.

And Dean had to remind himself— like he had done so many times before during their childhood— that they weren't left with another choice.

"Yeah, yeah I'm sure. You got this, Sammy."

No doubt about it.

Sammy was good at stitches.

Hell, the kid had probably sewn him and their dad back together too many times to count, always working with the kind of tenderness and patience that Dean himself had never really possessed.

"Okay…" the teen sighed, settling the head of the needle against the frayed skin on the side of the gaping slash in Dean's lower leg. "Brace yourself…"

* * *

"Hey, Dean?" Sam piped up quietly from where he was mindlessly zapping through the few flickering channels the ancient TV-station in the corner of the room offered.

Dean looked up from where he was browsing the Internet for the strange yellow flower he had spotted beneath the dumpster back at the parking lot- his only indication for Sam's weird transformation so far and met his little brother's wistful gaze over the distance.

"'s up?" he slurred, still slightly out of it from the pain killer he had taken after Sam had stitched up his leg, vision slightly blurry from having looked at the computer screen for so long.

Sam was squirming a little on his seat, clearly unsure about how to formulate his question and Dean instantly noticed the way his little brother's forehead scrunched up—a clear sign that something was bothering him.

"You okay?" the question came automatically—a quick-fire response that was ingrained in him, because if his little brother was upset about something, Dean needed to make it right again.

Sam swallowed uncomfortable, muting the TV and Dean sat up a little straighter in bed.

"Dad's dead, isn't he?"

Dean blinked, mouth falling open.

For a second, time seemed to stand still between them.

"Wha—" Dean fumbled for words, trying to ignore the way his heart was thundering away in his chest all of a while the older Winchester had definitely expected for Sammy to start asking questions at some point, he certainly hadn't expected the boy to get to the bottom of things this quickly.

Swallowing, Dean closed the laptop and sighed. "What makes you think so?"

Sam's lips wobbled, his eyes growing impossibly wide and filling with tears.

"Oh god…" the boy choked out, obviously able to read the answer to his question from his older brother's startled reaction. "H-he really is, isn't he?"

Dean swore under his breath as he carefully got up from the bed, ignoring the way his leg protested at the movement and hobbling over to where his brother sat like a picture of misery, shoulders quivering beneath his far too big hoodie and fat tears rolling down his pale cheeks.

"Sammy…" he breathed, sinking down beside Sam on the other bed and wrapping an arm around the boy's small frame.

"How-how d-did it happen? I mean… did he—was it a hunt, or—"

Dean took a deep breath, his heart constricting painfully in his chest. How was he supposed to tell Sam that their father died, making a deal with the same yellow-eyed son of a bitch that was responsible for their mother's death?

How was he supposed to say that their father made a deal for his life and ended up in hell for it?

Knowing the younger boy wouldn't be able to deal with the news, Dean's gaze dropped to the floor.

"Uhm… no. He… actually, it was a—a stroke," Dean lied easily, thinking back on the Djinn-induced dream world he had woken up in about 10 years ago and about his own relief at finding out that their father had gone from this world peacefully instead of accepting the unfair gruesomeness of his actual death in the real world.

"A stroke?" Sam breathed disbelievingly; eyebrows furrowed as if the idea that their father died by something so trivial was ridiculous, especially after the man had laughed into the face of death at so many occasions and constantly endangered his own life on his various hunting jobs.

Dean nodded, not letting his act slip. "Yeah. Who would've thought, huh?"

Sam sniffed, tears brimming over and spilling from his eyes once more, because as comforting as the thought of his father going peacefully might have been for Dean at age 27, it still meant their father- and only parent, had died and would be gone forever to a fourteen-year-old Sam.

"Hey, it's okay," Dean tried to comfort, rubbing his hand up and down his little brother's arm in an attempt to calm the boy down.

"'m s-sorry—" Sam choked out miserably, causing Dean to swallow around the lump in his own throat. "I-I mean I knew he w-wouldn't be around f-forever but—"

"It's okay, I get it," Dean gently assured, tightening his hold around Sam's shoulder and pulling his little brother closer against his side. "You got every right to be sad. God knows, I wasn't dealing well with his death either… He always seemed so... _invincible_."

Truth was Dean tried not to think about his father too often for various reasons- the most obvious being that the memories of his old man were still too painful.

Sometimes all he had to do to get reminded of him was looking at his brother.

Or at his own reflection in the mirror.

Or at the pile of broken shards that was their lives.

The man had left more wounds on his heart and soul than Dean was willing to acknowledge and even the good memories were too painful to be dug out of the corners of his mind if he hadn't been numbing his own heart down with alcohol before.

So sitting here with his younger brother in his arms and thinking about John's death was more than a little strange- even for their kind of crazy.

But Dean would hold on forever if that's what Sam needed at that moment.

Because fourteen- or not, Sammy would always be his priority and he would always do anything to ensure the kid was okay.

**TBC…**

* * *

_So what do you guys think? :) I know not a lot happened in this one, but I promise more action in the coming chapters ;) Does anybody have any particular scenes they want to have played out between younger Sam and older Dean? I'm up for suggestions if you have any. Have some ideas of my own already, but I figured maybe you wanna share yours :D Other than that, please tell me your thoughts on the new chapter! Would love to hear your opinions :) Reviews make me happyy!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Ashes, the Rain and I**

**Chapter 3**

* * *

After Sam had calmed down from the initial shock of finding out about their father's death, the kid had looked drained and exhausted.

"Hey, uhm…" Dean started, scratching the back of his neck. "You must be hungry… want me to fix you something? I've been told to make some awesome Mac n' Cheese."

It was a weak attempt at a distraction, but Dean needed to make himself useful and the kid really did look like he could use to eat.

Who knows how long it had been since Sammy had had his last meal. Knowing his brother, the thought of eating probably hadn't even crossed his mind in the midst of what happened today.

Sam blinked up at Dean, wiping at his puffy, red-rimmed eyes. He bit his lower lip in contemplation but before he could give an answer, his empty stomach decided to speak for him by growling loudly.

Dean snorted softly when Sam's eyes flickered down in a flash of panicked embarrassment at the involuntary sound. For some reason his brother had always been unreasonably bashful about stuff like that, even around his family.

"Guess that means you're up for some grub…"

Dean moved to get off the bed, but Sam's bony hand shot out to hold him back. "No, wait. You shouldn't be up, Dean. I just sewed you back together, remember?"

"I'm fine," Dean gave back, hiding his wince as he pushed up from the mattress and grabbed the remote for the TV from his nightstand.

"Dean…" Sam sighed, reluctantly letting go of Dean's arm as the older man straightened up from the bed. "You really shouldn't put strain on that leg—"

"Spare me, Samantha. You know I'll only go stir crazy being hauled up in bed all day… besides, you're gonna need to get some food into you if you wanna grow to the size of a giraffe."

Sam's lips twitched into a weak smile at that. "You're just jealous 'cause I'm gonna be taller than you."

"Right..." Dean snorted as he hobbled towards the small kitchenette of their motel room.

It had been the only vacant room the motel clerk had left and Dean had been kind of pissed over having to pay for an extra big room he didn't need until he had discovered that the place came with a small stove and some cupboards.

He sorted through his duffle and let out a victorious sound when his searching hands wrapped around a can of red beans and a half-finished box of Mac'N'Cheese in one of the many side pockets.

He and Sam never usually cooked their own meals but they always kept a small stash of processed food in case they ever had to spend the night in the woods or in some secluded cabin.

They both preferred to get take-out food when they had the chance but taking precautions was never a bad thing.

A habit that proved to be quite useful once more as Dean started to sort through the cabinets in search for a small frying pan. They didn't have milk, but that had never been a problem before. Dean used to make due with water most of the time, even when they were still kids. It didn't turn out quite as creamy as it did when prepared with milk, but it would fill Sammy's stomach no less. And right now, a warm meal was exactly was his little brother needed.

"So uhm…" Sam had appeared next to Dean in the kitchenette, biting his lower lip as he stared down at the floor as if deeply lost in thought.

"What?" Dean asked, stirring the macaroni with practiced moves. Something was bothering his little brother and Dean was determined to get behind whatever had the kid's stomach in knots.

"Apart from what happened to dad… our lives are still pretty much the same then?" Sam's voice wavered a little when he talked and his fingers were idly playing with the sleeves of his oversized hoodie- a clear sign for nervousness. Sam still sometimes toyed with loose threads on his jeans when he breached a topic he dreaded or when he had to tell Dean something unpleasant.

Dean narrowed his eyes and added the cheese powder to the noodles in his pot, waiting patiently for Sam to go on.

"I mean… we're still hunting, right? A-and living on the road… we never actually got to settle down? You know… like in a house or something? Or… go do something else? Like… like school or something?"

The teenager was rambling. Another nervous tick he had. Because hell knew, the kid could make a good point if he wanted to, but when feeling insecure or nervous Sammy could talk up a storm without making a lick of sense.

Dean sighed, taking the macaroni off the stove and shutting of the heat before facing the fourteen-year-old. No matter whether Sam was making sense or not, Dean knew how to read his kid. He's had a lifetime of practice, after all.

"You mean like going to college."

It wasn't a question. Dean knew his brother and he knew that Sam had started thinking about getting an education at an early stage in his life. Must have happened somewhere in his teens for sure. There was no doubt in his mind that Sam had dreamed of the white-picket-fence life for far longer than he or their dad had ever given him credit for.

And to take a peek at his future-life and find out that none of his dreams had become reality and that he is in fact- pretty much bound to live a life as a hunter _forever_, never settling down, never finding a wife or getting kids and never leading the 'normal' life he craved so much- now, **that** was a tough pill to swallow.

Dean wasn't sure if he would be able to deliver that final blow and essentially crush all of his brother's hopes and dreams under his little finger, so he served Sam a portion of steaming Macaroni instead and pressed it into the kid's hands. "Sit down and eat."

Sam's shoulders slumped and the plate began to waver in his hands- obviously the boy had taken Dean's silence as an affirmation to his earlier question.

Dean's heart clenched painfully at the way Sam's eyes turned glassy with unshed tears as he mechanically trotted over to the kitchen table and flopped down into a heap of misery.

Sighing heavily, Dean wiped the back of his hand across his lips."Listen…" he started, not really sure where he was going with this, but realizing that he couldn't let a young Sam know how crappy their lives would turn out to be. Because sometimes hope was the only thing they had left in a world as dark as theirs and maybe they needed to cling to that in order to survive.

Sam looked up, blinking rapidly.

"You _did _go to college, alright?" Dean said, because this was the easiest part- he didn't even have to lie about that one. Sammy had been to college after all, even if it wasn't for long.

Sam's eyes widened in surprise and hopefulness. "I did?" he asked incredulously.

Dean nodded, opening the can of beans and fixing his own dinner with disinterest.

"Yeah. That ginormous brain of yours got you into Stanford. Full ride. You packed your things and left as soon as you got the acceptance letter."

Dean tried to keep his voice void of emotion, but the words were still tainted with bitterness, the memories of Sam's departure painting a vivid picture of misery in his mind.

He tried to swallow past his own hurt, knowing that this was important for his little brother- knowing that Sam himself had never thought back to that day with anything but longing and a sense of freedom, whereas Dean had tried to bury the memories of Sam's departure in the darkest corners of his mind.

Sam sucked in a shocked breath, visibly tensing in his seat as he took in what Dean had just disclosed.

Food forgotten, Sam bestowed his big brother with a wide-eyed look.

"But… the hunt—"

Dean snorted, shaking his head. "Don't act so surprised, Sammy. You always hated hunting anyway…"

Sam's forehead wrinkled. "Yeah, but what about you guys, I mean did dad—"

"Dad was proud of you," Dean cut his brother off, unwilling to tell the kid anything about the big fallout between him and their father. Because the last thing Sam needed was to know about the 'walk out that door and never come back' ultimatum he had been faced with on the day he had left them. And neither did he need to know about how their small family had broken apart that night or about how Sam and him hadn't talked for years afterwards (and probably still wouldn't be talking if it hadn't been for their Dad's disappearance…)

Dean swallowed at the thought, throat closing around an invisible lump.

A picture of Jessica flashed before his mind's eye, gold locks and huge smile, Sam walking up behind her to wrap his arms around her rounded belly, the laughter of two other children filling the air as they chase each other through the front yard of a big house.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing the images of what Sam's future might have looked like away. There was no sense in dwelling in the past.

His brother would never get to do any of that. Jessica was dead. And so was their hope for a better life.

"He didn't take it well, did he?" Sam suddenly piped up, causing Dean's mind to snap back to reality.

Sam must have realized that their dad would never approve of him going to college, despite Dean's best efforts to keep the truth hidden from his younger sibling. The kid had always been able to see straight through Dean's bullshit.

"No," Dean sighed. "He didn't. But that doesn't mean he wasn't proud of you, Sammy… you know dad always had a crappy way of showing it."

Sam nodded, pecking listlessly at his food.

Dean shut off the stove plate and grabbed a bowl of beans for himself, sitting down on the stool beside Sam and lightly bumping the kid's knee with his own.

"What did I study?" Sam asked after a beat "You went to law school," Dean offered up a soft smile. "Got a decent job at the library, met a beautiful girl, got an apartment and a bunch of close friends. You made it, Sammy."

Of course, Dean didn't bother to mention that Sam had not only had all that- but that he lost it again the next second… There was no way he would ever want to erase that glimmer of happiness from his little brother's face after what he had just told him.

Sam took a forkful of his dinner, the positive news having revived his appetite. "So… if I made it out of the hunting life- how come my 32-year-old self is on the road with you?"

Dean almost choked on his food, eyes widening slightly at his brother's question. Yeah, why was Sam still on the road with him, when he had wanted nothing but get away from the hunting life since he was old enough to think. Wasn't that the million dollar question?

"Uhm… I called you, because I needed help on a case, and now with Dad gone…" Dean quickly made up, keeping his face carefully blank and his eyes on the bowl in front of him as to not let anything on. "You took a few days off from work and met me here."

"Oh," Sam chewed on his food, mulling things over in his head. "I guess that makes sense."

He didn't look all too convinced, but Dean was tired of trying to explain things and there were other things they needed to focus on as well. Like getting Sammy back to his own timeline and finding out about what happened to 36-year-old Sam.

And dear lord, that still hadn't stopped sounding weird to his ears.

"So… " Dean started, shoving his empty plate away. "That yellow flower I found by the dumpster behind that dive bar? It's called yarrow. It's often used for spells and incantations…"

Sam's head piped up at that and Dean instantly noticed the flicker of recognition in his little brother's face.

"You've seen it before?" he probed gently, finishing the rest of his beans.

"More like… read about it in a book."

Dean snorted softly at that.

Only his geek of a brother would find interest in books about flowers, while every other four-teen-year old in the world spent their free time playing soccer or stealing glances at hidden porn mags.

"So you're into gardening now?" Dean cocked an eyebrow, eliciting another bitchy look from his brother.

"Do you want me to tell you about it, or not?"

Dean raised his palms in surrender. "Go on, I'm all ears…"

Sam sighed, getting up from his seat and carrying their empty bowls to the sink. "I don't know much about it, just that it is said to have healing powers. You remember Homer's Illiad?"

Dean blinked up at Sam as if he had grown a second head. "What's that like a reference to The Simpso—"

"Don't finish that," Sam hastily cut him off, looking ten kinds of annoyed as he bestowed Dean with his best glower of disappointed annoyance. "Common knowledge, Dean, seriously…"

Dean shrugged and Sam let out an exasperated sigh before continuing. "It's one of the most famous historic poems from the ancient Greek, describing the battles and events taking place during the Trojan War between the city of Troy and the Greek state."

"Okay, seriously—" Dean cut in from the side, whole face scrunched up in disbelief. "You are mad that I don't know _**that**_?! You only just said one sentence and I'm already bored out of my mind. What in the world would go make you read something like that at age 14?"

Sam's bitch-face became more pronounced as he narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together.

"It's called classic literature, Dean. Something that wouldn't hurt you, if you ever bothered to go to school—"

"Yeah well, guess it's a little too late for that now," Dean shot back heatedly, annoyed by his brother's disrespectful accusation.

This was certainly something he hadn't missed about Sam's younger self. The constant nagging about going to school and finishing his GED had been more than exhausting when they were still in their teens and Sam had still tried to convince Dean of the importance of a solid education. And Dean would never admit it, but it had always kinda hurt him to hear Sam's jibes about how he missed out in the brain department.

Dean wasn't stupid, he just had always known that school wouldn't get him anywhere with the life they were leading. It hadn't bothered him to come off as uneducated to his classmates or teachers, because he had never given anything about what other people thought about him, anyways.

But he had always wanted to be looked up to by his little brother and Sam had made it pretty clear during his puberty that if anything- there was more reason to be ashamed of his dumb, spineless grunt of a brother, than to be aspired and looked up to.

That was a painful realization.

And even today, Dean sometimes had to struggle with the way Sam would look at him whenever Dean didn't know something that was apparently considered 'common knowledge' and made a fool of himself.

Guess he couldn't really hold a candle to the kid who had gotten a full ride to an Ivy League school before his 18th birthday.

No wonder his brother was ashamed of him.

Sam studied the way Dean's eyes would fall to the ground in silence, shoulders sinking and face growing somber and let out a sigh of his own, feeling guilty for having put that defeated look on his older brother's face.

"Dean…" Sam meekly approached the older man, looking genuinely stricken over having hurt his brother's feelings. "I didn't mean anything by it—"

"I'm not a total deadbeat, you know?" Dean lifted his chin a little in defiance, jaw clenched and shoulders tensing again, as if he expected Sam to fight him on that.

Sam sucked in his lower lip, eyes widening slightly as he shook his head. "Dean… I **know** that."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean interfered harshly, not letting his brother finish.

That annoying itch was back and this time he couldn't stop his hand from shooting out to wrap around the pulsating mark on his forearm. For a second he had to close his eyes against the burst of unreasonable rage that flooded his body, before he finally reined in his composure.

"Can we get back to that goddamned flower, now?" he snapped in a clipped voice that came out much harsher than he wanted. "I'd like to get my _real_ brother back before I end up getting stuck with you."

A flash of hurt crossed Sam's young features and he recoiled from the words.

Dean was a little stunned at his own outburst, instantly feeling guilty for his choice of words when he saw Sam's shocked expression.

But just as suddenly as it had come, the hurt on Sam's face morphed into a careful mask of indifference— hiding their pain away from the outside world had been an early lesson during their childhood.

Dean expected Sam to snap back at him, but when he was met with nothing but silence, he knew his words had truly hit home.

Because Sammy might have been only 14-years old right now, but that didn't mean he was any less of his little brother than 32-year-old Sam had been.

They were essentially the same person. And Dean had more or less just told him he couldn't wait to get rid of him again.

"Look," he sighed, rubbing a hand over his stubble. "I'm sorr—"

"Save it," Sam cut him off, not meeting Dean's gaze. He had a glimmer of sadness in his eyes and Dean felt like an asshole for having put it there.

"From what I remember, Yarrow commonly appears in Europe," Sam recited after a moment of silence. "Especially colder regions like the German Blackwoods and Alps. That's also why it is often used for scenic descriptions in the old German fairytales and fables… In antiquity it was said to have healing powers- Achilles used it to stop the blood flow from his wounded heel."

Dean stared at Sam with a hint of admiration, despite the tension filling the air between them.

He wasn't resentful towards Sam for being so damn' clever, just the opposite was true, actually.

Dean was proud- and had always been proud of his little brother's achievements- both on an academic level, but also in terms of hunting.

Pride and happiness filled his heart whenever his genius of a brother put that ginormous brain to use and Dean even felt a little smug about having raised such a smart kid when he was barely more than a teen himself back then.

He just didn't deal well with the fact that his brother was looking down on him for not being a walking and talking encyclopedia of random facts and human knowledge like Sam was himself.

Letting out a breath, Dean gave the mark on his arm a final squeeze, quenching the fire in his soul, before nodding and getting up from his seat.

"Alright, that's a good start for our research," he said, hobbling over to the twin bed closest to the door and grabbing his discarded jacket from the floor.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sam demanded, crossing his bony arms in front of his chest.

Dean ignored him as he sat down to put on his boots and then moved to grab his gun from the nightstand.

"Dean!" Sam insisted, growing more impatient.

"Relax. We're just going to pay the local library a brief visit. Find out more about these German fables and the ancient Greek stuff… maybe there's something useful to get us on the right track."

Sam opened his mouth in protest- already wracking his brain for the most effective way to talk Dean out of his plan, but then he seemed to think better of it and relented.

"Alright," he breathed. "_I'll_ do it."

Dean didn't understand what his brother was saying at first and just continued to gather his stuff, until Sam snatched the keys to the Impala from his loose hold in a moment of distraction. "Hey! What—"

"I said, **I'm** going. Me as in _'not-you'_ because you were shot in the leg not even 4 hours ago and I won't sew you back together two times in one night."

"Okay,_ that's it_," Dean decided, having had enough of his brother's bossy attitude.

His hand quickly shot out to wrest the keys away from Sam.

"I know you think you're all tough and grown-up and that gives you the right to order me around like a sick puppy that needs to be put in its place, but fact is- you're nothing but a fourteen-year-old_ kid _and that makes me the one to call the fucking shots, here."

Dean's whole posture was radiating authority and he couldn't remember a single moment in their lives where Sam had looked at him with as much confusion and fear in his eyes as he did in that second.

But Dean didn't care. He just kept going.

"I might not have a fucking college degree, Sam—" he continued heatedly, causing the boy's eyes to widen even farther and his lips to wobble.

The fact that he had used 'Sam' instead of the loving nickname 'Sammy' didn't go unnoticed by the younger boy.

"But I'm a grown ass hunter who's got to carry the weight of about 36-years worth of **crap **on his shoulders and I've been through things that you can't even imagine in your wildest nightmares, so if I say that I'm up for a fucking drive to the library, then you will follow my goddamn' lead without giving me lip about it, understood?"

Dean's breathing was heavy when he ended his rant, heart thundering loudly in his chest.

But it wasn't until he consciously looked down at the dumbfounded look on his younger brother's face that he became aware of just how much he had messed up.

Sam's eyes were wide and unblinking, his shoulders drawn up almost protectively as he stared up at Dean with frightened eyes.

"_What happened to you?_" Sam pressed out in an appalled whisper. "I don't even know you anymore..."

And with that he stormed outside the motel room, not giving Dean the chance for a response.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and swore under his breath, angry at himself for not having had a better grasp on his emotions.

Why the hell did he have to blow up into the kids face like that?

After all, Sammy had only tried to watch out for him and keep him from hurting himself.

Sighing, he looked down at his trembling arm, knowing exactly what had caused this unwanted outburst. The mark was zapping his energy resources, weakening him from the inside out and making him more prone to the constant vibes of aggression pulsating through his veins.

It was getting stronger.

And Sammy wasn't safe to stay around him while Dean had no real control over his own actions and emotions. Especially not in his younger and weaker state now that he was nothing but a freaking kid.

God, this whole thing was so messed up.

Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and turned to leave the room.

They needed to get behind whatever the hell was going on, before Dean would do more than just scream at Sammy.

Hobbling outside to where the Impala was parked in front of their room, Dean found Sam sitting on the passenger seat, not even sparing him a glance as he settled behind the steering wheel of the classic Chevy.

Dean pulled the door closed with a rusty squeak before letting out a heavy sigh.

"I didn't mean to yell at you," he stated softly, willing to set things straight between his little brother and himself.

Sam sniffed but didn't turn around to look at him.

"You were right, you know?" the teen said after a beat.

"Right about what?" Dean frowned.

Sam sent him a fleeting glance over his bony shoulder.

"About getting me back to where I came from," he explained. "I don't think I want to get stuck with you either… you are nothing like the Dean _I know_..."

Dean swallowed down the hurt that came from the punch Sam's words packed and fired up the engine.

Sam might have said the words to hurt him, but the kid had no idea how right he actually was.

Because deep inside, Dean knew that there was only very little left of the indestructible bond he used to share with his brother when they were younger.

Sure, they were back to normal now- talking to each other, working cases and pretending everything was all fine and dandy.

But the truth was, their relationship felt strained and worn out after everything that had happened during the past 10 years and Dean was pretty sure that the Mark of Cain was going to deliver the final blow that would annihilate whatever was left of their brotherhood eventually if they didn't find a way to get rid of it soon.

He only hoped that when it came to that final blowout, Sam would walk away a free man- free of the Winchester burden and even more importantly- free of Dean.

So that Sam could have a shot at that shiny future at last, one in which his brother didn't play an active role… one where Dean would no longer pose a threat to Sam's happiness.

Ignoring the way his heart clenched in his chest, Dean eased the Impala onto the road.

Then he took a deep breath, steeling himself for an uncomfortable trip to the library.

**TBC...**

* * *

_Hey guys, I'm back :) Sorry for the overall gloominess of this chapter... Will the boys be able to work things out? I promise some hurt!Sam and Protective!BigBro!Dean in the upcoming chapter. Thanks for all the inspiring ideas, I will definitely put them to use at some point. Reviews are love! :D _


	4. Chapter 4

**Ashes, the Rain and I **

**Chapter 4**

* * *

One of the advantages of Sammy being zapped back to his 14-year-old self was that he was cute enough to charm his way around the eighty-something-year old, evil-looking librarian, who had officially declared that opening hours were over.

Because apparently not even old hags with a penchant for silence and shushing noises could resist the puppy-eyes when they were in full power mode.

In fact, all it took for Sam to convince her to let him slip into the study hall was some teary-eyed story about how he had gotten a C- on his last English test and how his father now forced him to revise classic European literature to improve his grades or else he would be grounded for eternity…

Dean didn't feel addressed by Sam's story until he was on the receiving end of the librarian's wrath, getting lectured about bad parenting and how grounding your child was unorthodox and irresponsible parental behavior that would only lead to lifelong psychological damage.

"No, with all due respect Ma'am, he's not my _son_—" Dean had tried to protest, looking ten kind of bewildered at the mere suggestion that Sammy was his child- for Christ's sake- did he really look that old, already?

He fondly remembered a time where he and Sam had looked too young to come off as FBI agents and now he was getting mistaken for the Dad of a freaking teenager.

Apparently the years haven't been as kind of him as he'd thought.

"So as soon as he's not living up to your expectations, he's no longer your son, is that it? You should be ashamed of yourself, Mister. People like you should be hunted down by Social Services and bereft of their rights as legal guardians—"

While the lady was working herself into a self-righteous frenzy, Dean clenched his teeth and swallowed down a burst of anger. Because even ignoring the fact that the old woman didn't pose a real threat to them, Dean couldn't deny that the mention of CPS brought up a shitload of memories and emotions that he sure as hell wasn't ready to dig up from the depths of his mind.

And- _oh yeah_\- there was no way he would let some frigid spinster threaten to take his baby brother away from him.

No way in hell.

Not even when theoretically- his brother was a grown-as-hell Sasquatch with legal rights of his own, thank you very much.

"Why don't you take a step back there, Cruella, and let me take care of my kid the way I see fit—"

No reason to tell the truth.

This woman wouldn't believe him anyway, if he told her that Sam was actually his little brother.

But Dean's voice trailed off when something caught his in the back of the study hall, where Sam had ran off to not even ten minutes ago, a huge, dark shadow had crept through the corner of his vision.

Just there and gone again.

Dean was unable to spot Sam's shaggy mop where he'd seen it only minutes ago and it freaked him the hell out to not have the kid in his line of vision all of a sudden.

Dean took an involuntary step towards the direction of the study hall, when Cruella De Ville stopped him mid-movement.

"I let your son go and get the books he needed, but I won't grant you the same—_hey_!"

Dean gently but firmly steered the older woman out of his way as he hurried to cross over to where his brother had ran off into the European Literature section of the library hall.

"Sammy!" he roared, heart hammering in his chest when he found an opened book on German fairytales sitting abandoned in the center of an old wooden table, no signs of his little brother anywhere nearby. "Sam!"

Whipping his head around in a panicked attempt to find the kid between the lines of bookshelves, the only person he actually did find, was the grouchy librarian who shot him a warning glower from where she stood a few meters next to him, bony arms crossed in front of her chest.

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave—"

"Did you let anyone else in here before us?" Dean ignored the woman's request and crept around the oak wood bookshelf, one hand pressed against the loaded gun that was tucked away in his waistband- still safely hidden from the librarian's view but _there_ and ready to be used if anybody was stupid enough to have touched a single hair on his little brother's head.

The old lady's expression was bewildered when she shook her head. "No, of course not. I told your son that I was only making an exception when I let him in- now if I had known what disarray you two would cause—"

"_DEAN!"_

A sudden yell broke the woman's words off.

It was Sammy's voice, coming from somewhere across the room and Dean started running the second he heard it, his brother's scream reverberating through every cell of his body.

Sprinting over to the far end of the hall, Dean pulled his gun from his waistband, arms tense and poised ready to shoot at the unknown attacker.

The librarian yelled something after him- sounding panicked and enraged and Dean started to regret his decision to let her stick around when she was so obviously going to be in the way of the impeding fallout.

But his annoyance was short-lived, outweighed by his fear for Sam's safety when he snuck across one of the many dark shelf lines and finally caught a glimpse of his dark blue fabric from a slot between rows of books.

Dark blue like Sam's hoodie.

There were shuffling noises- the rubber from Sam's sneakers screeching against wooden floor boards as he was trying to fightoff his attacker- who had pressed meaty fingers over the kid's mouth to keep him from screaming.

A burst of irrational fury surged through Dean at the sight and before he knew what he was doing, Dean had rounded the shelf and cocked the hammer of his gun, whole body tense like a coil and ready to snap this bastard's bones.

"Get your hands off of my brother, you son of a bitch!"

The guy looked like hybrid version of Hagrid and Mike Myers, his dark scrubby hair a wild mess and skin scabbed over with nasty-looking scars. He was freaking huge- broad shoulders squared as he took in a threatening pose, wielding Sam in front of him like a human shield of protection.

He had a meaty palm pressed over the kid's mouth- while the other arm was firmly locked around the squirming teenager's chest-holding him in place.

Dean's gaze wandered over his brother's body appraisingly, assessing the damage done to the kid and trying to see whether Sam was in any obvious pain.

There was a purple bruise around the kid's chin from where that bastard must have landed a punch- probably catching him by surprise and getting the drop on him in a moment of distraction.

A few droplets of blood were leaking from Sam's nose.

Dean had to force down a wave of renewed anger at the sight.

He would make that freaking bastard pay.

"I would let him go, if I were you. Last chance before you get a smoking hole between the eyes…" he kept his tone low and dangerous. His aim was steady, pointed at the center of big guy's face.

He was being dead serious. The guy was already as good as dead.

Seeing Sam in a vulnerable situation was always igniting an overprotective streak inside of him, but having his little brother turned back into a kid was taking things even further- was reminding him of Sam's innocence and the kindhearted spirit his little brother had always possessed and still did, even now, despite everything that had happened over the course of their lifetime.

Taking care of Sam had always been his duty, had always been his _life mission_\- but the urge to nurture and protect was a million times stronger now that Sammy had actually been turned back into a scrawny kid with barely any meat on his bones.

His current state made him more seem small and helpless even though- logically- Dean knew his little brother was anything but.

"You won't be able to keep him from me—" the man said in a heavily accented voice and Sam choked out a helpless sound of discomfort when the guy's arms tightened around his middle.

Dean took a threatening step forward, aim unwavering even when a nervous muscle ticked in his cheek, giving his own edginess away.

"The boy's already as good as dead. You can't run from us. We will always find him. **She** will always find him..."

"Yeah, well," Dean pressed out through clenched teeth, eyes falling down to lock gazes with his little brother. "I wouldn't be so sure about that…"

Sam looked at him, waiting for the sign- and Dean moved his head in an affirmative nod- barely there but still discernable for somebody who paid attention. He was suddenly incredibly thankful for his brother's perceptiveness, having always paid attention during the training their father had put them through despite his own resistance to the hunting life.

Because even as a stubborn teenager who used to spend every waking minute of his life butting heads with their old man, Sam had still listened, still paid attention to all the things their father had taught them over the years.

That's why they had all these little code words and signs- military language for when they were in dangerous situations that called for drastic measures- and why they've learned to use them even back when they were still nothing more than kids.

And that's also why Sam bit down on the guy's fingers with so much force that the bastard howled in pain after having received the all-clear from his big brother, causing the man to let go of Sam's chest and stumbling back, whole face scrunched up in agony as he screamed.

Dean waited until his little brother was out of the line of fire, before he pulled the trigger, shooting the bastard in the leg.

The guy fell to the ground with a heavy thud and a blood-curdling scream of pain, blood splattering the old books that were lined up in the shelf behind him.

Sammy flinched back from the sound of the discharged weapon and Dean wrapped a hand around the kid's thin arm before pulling him against his side, fingers lingering on clammy skin, reassuring, _protective_.

"Stay close," he instructed and Sam nodded, dark hair strands falling into his eyes.

"You okay?" Dean asked in a gruff but gentle voice, leaning down to press his thumb against the small bleeding cut in the boy's lips. A crimson trickle of warm blood protruded from the tiny wound and Sam winced in discomfort.

The boy nodded again, confirming that he was fine, but Dean would only believe that once ha had seen it for himself.

But for now, there were other things they needed to take care of.

Like the big-ass fucker that was writhing on the ground in front of them.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, pointing his gun towards the guy's other leg. "What do you want from my brother?"

"You will pay for what you did here! She will make you pay and she will kill the boy, no matter what you do to protect him," the stranger sneered, clutching at the bullet wound in his leg.

Dean let his gaze trail up and down the guy's body- taking in the strange old-fashioned clothing and the weird hat sitting on top of his scrubby mane.

"Who are you talking about?" he demanded, feeling Sam going rigid beside him in fear over the guy's ominous prediction that somebody was coming for him- that somebody was out to kill him.

Wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulders, Dean tried to convey that he would never let anything happen to Sam as long as he was around. That he would rather die trying to save him than to let anybody harm him.

Sam just bit his lip, looking insecure and uncomfortable.

So Dean decided to cut this little Q&amp;A session short.

"Listen up, _Bigfoot._ My patience is about to run out so you can either start talking or you can kiss your ability to walk goodbye. You understand?!"

There was a metallic click when Dean pulled back the hammer of his gun, removing the safety for a second time.

"Dean…" Sam whispered reluctantly, always the good conscience of the operation. "Maybe we shouldn't—"

He didn't get to finish when the guy on the ground suddenly ripped something out of his chest-pocket, moving too quick for either of them to react.

Muttering a handful of words, the stranger opened his palm, revealing a heap of yellow pollen and blowing until the flower seeds sailed through the air in a cloud of amber dust.

Dean swore under his breath when the puffed pollen clouded his field of vision and Sammy started coughing beside him.

"Cover your mouth, Sammy," Dean ordered hastily, sending off a shot to where he could only see the outlines of the guy's dark contours behind the veil of yellow pollen.

But it was already too late.

When the dust settled a few seconds later, the guy had vanished from his spot on the ground leaving only a pool of blood on the wooden floor boards.

"What the hell—" he muttered, eyes widening when he stepped forward to scan the area for any sign of the man that had been here just a moment ago.

"Vanishing spell," Sam concluded, rubbing the yellow dust from his eyes and grimacing when they stung from irritation.

Dean holstered his gun and took another cursory look around before swiping a finger through the thick layer of pollen that had settled on top of the book shelves.

He sniffed at the sweet, flowery scent that emanated from his fingers and grimaced, the odor having confirmed his suspicion.

"That's Yarrow."

Sam's eyes widened slightly and he bit his lower lip. "The guy had an accent. If I had to guess, I'd say it was German."

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "How can you tell?"

"Short vowels. Harsh sounding sibilants," his little brother shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He had trouble to pronounce 'v's and 'w's which is kinda typical for people with Germanic or Nordic origins…"

"Jesus, you're weird…" Dean sighed rubbing a hand over his forehead. Sam shot him an annoyed glower in response.

"You asked."

"Remind me not to do that again, language nerd," Dean muttered softly, with no real bite in his tongue- because maybe- just maybe he was proud that the kid he had raised was a walking and talking encyclopedia of unnecessary knowledge.

They made their way over to the European section and Sam was quick to gather the books of the Brothers Grimm's tales from the shelves- lastly grabbing the already opened book from the table top from where it had been discarded earlier.

"How did he get the drop on you?" Dean wanted to know, taking some off the books from his brother's hold to help him with the weight.

Sam's gaze dropped to the floor, heat rising up to his cheeks. "I… I was reading the book and he crept up on me from behind. I thought maybe it was just you… and by the time I realized it wasn't—"

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean reassured. "I'm not blaming you. You couldn't have known..."

"That's bull and you know it," Sam challenged, voice suddenly rising up in tone and volume. "A hunter should always expect the unexpected. Isn't that the kind of thing Dad always tries—" Sam closed his eyes, shaking his head upon noticing his own mistake. "— what he **_tried_** to tell us?" he corrected.

Dean sighed.

Yes, it was part of the hunter lifestyle to be on guard 24/7.

To be aware of your surroundings and watch your own back when nobody else was around to do it for you.

_Never let down your guard- not even for a second._

It had been a motto their dad had lived by for practically all his life.

But Dean didn't want that for Sammy.

He didn't want his brother to spend a lifetime in constant danger, feeling as if he was threatened by everything and everyone.

He had never wanted that for the kid.

That's why he had made it his personal goal to protect Sam. Because that way he could take some of the burden that came with being a hunter from his little brother's shoulders and make him feel secure in a world full of darkness.

Even if it meant that his own life was made more dangerous, was made harder and laced with responsibility, Dean had never regretted his decision to be Sam's protector for life.

"Maybe it's part of the lifetime. But you won't ever have to worry about that as long as I'm around, okay? I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, Sammy."

Sam sniffed, wiping at the crusted blood below his nose and pulled the books a little tighter against his chest.

"You sure about that?" the kid asked, looking deflated. "You can't watch me all the freaking time, Dean. Sometimes bad stuff just happens, no matter what you do."

"Maybe you're right," Dean conceded. "But that doesn't mean it will happen to you. Not if I can prevent it…"

"Okay," Sam nodded, meeting Dean's gaze with a shimmer of gratitude in his eyes.

When they started moving again, ready to leave the library behind, Sam suddenly gasped, causing Dean to stop dead in his tracks. "What is it? Is he back? Are you hurt?!"

"No, look—" Sam pointed towards a stretch of ground a few meters ahead of them, where the old librarian lay sprawled across the floor.

"Shit," Dean muttered, breaking out into a run, Sammy following close behind him. "She must have watched the scene from back here..."

They both dropped down next to the old lady on the ground, Dean's fingers immediately going for her throat to look for a pulse. He took in a relieved breath when the steady throb of the woman's heartbeat thrummed against his trembling fingers.

"She's alive. Probably just fainted or something," he assessed quietly, watching Sam visibly relax at the news. "Thank god…" the kid breathed out in relief. "Should we call an ambulance?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. But let's get out of here first. 'm gonna call them once we've hit the road okay?"

Sam agreed after a second or two. Together, they hurried outside, leaving a trail of destruction behind.

* * *

"You think she'll be alright?"

Dean glanced up from where he was crouched over his little brother's form, tending to his wounds.

He didn't have to ask Sam who he was talking about.

The kid had always worn his heart on his sleeve, feeling deeply for everyone- even if they were just random strangers they had met briefly during one of their hunts.

His ability to sympathize with people and his willingness to help others were both a curse and a virtue in their line of work, but more often than not it just lead to a ton of extra-baggage you would end up carrying around with you if you weren't careful.

Dean took a deep breath and locked eyes with Sam over where his hands were rubbing salve into a vicious looking bruise on his brother's collar bone.

They had quickly returned to their Motel room after what had happened in the library and Dean had immediately shoved Sammy onto the nearest bed and gotten the first aid kit from his duffle.

The teenager had protested at first, trying to tell him that he was fine, but Dean had still wanted to check the kid out and make sure Sammy was alright.

"You don't think she'll… freak out over what happened, right? I mean after she wakes up…" Sam hesitantly continued to voice his concerns, rubbing his nose against the bony length of his bare shoulder.

"Head to the side," Dean gently demanded, taking the soaked washcloth from where he'd dropped it on the nightstand and dabbing at the cut in Sam's lip. "Lift your chin a little."

Sam was oddly compliant, following his brother's orders without resistance or backtalk, which would have been reason for concern if it hadn't been such a damn' long day.

So Dean cleared his throat, looking up to meet his brother's worried gaze. "You're afraid she'll spill her beans… tell the paramedics about what she saw?" he guessed and by the looks of it, hit the nail right on the head.

Sam swallowed, looking sad and deflated, sagging a little more against his brother's probing hands. He stared off at the far wall, fighting for the right words to express his worries.

"She's an old woman, Dean. If she wakes up all confused and freaked out about a hairy giant that got shot in the leg by Rambo and his kid in the middle of a library, people will think she's lost her mind…"

Dean snorted at that, shaking his head. "So maybe she'll get fired, dude. She was way too old to be working anyways, if y'ask me..."

"Dean—" Sam threw in, sounding exasperated.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, Sam, what do you want me to say here? It's tough what we're doing… you win some, you lose some. It's always difficult when innocent bystanders get involved, but even if she's going to lose her job, there's nothing we can do about that. At least she didn't lose her life, right? So quit worrying about her and let's concentrate on you for a second..."

"But I'm fine," Sam tried to swat at Dean's prodding fingers to punctuate his protest, but the older man wasn't taking it.

"Stop squirming and this will be over in ten. You know the drill, Sam. The harder you make this, the longer it will take."

Sam gave a muttered sound of protest but went pliant in Dean's hold all the same, following his big brother's orders dutifully until the scrutiny was over.

Luckily, Sammy had come out of the encounter relatively unscathed, apart from a few bruises on his chest and face and the one cut in his lip.

Dean had stopped the bleeding and put a small patch on the cut, holding the broken skin together.

Thank god it wasn't deep enough to require actual stitches.

In an absurd afterthought, Dean wondered whether the older Sam would be carrying an extra scar on his lips after he was turned back into his regular self. But he discarded the idea just as quickly as it had come.

"You good?" Dean asked when Sam started pulling his hoodie back on. He grabbed a soda from the kitchen counter and passed it on to his brother.

"Yeah, thanks."

After Sam had downed the drink and leaned back against Dean's pillow, he grabbed one of the books they had stolen from the library and started flicking through the yellow-colored pages.

"So…" he started after a moment of silence. "What now?"

Dean mussed his spikey hair and sank down on the bed across from Sam. "Now we try to find out who that guy was. And what fairytale he's from. We know that it must be a German tale, right? And that it must be old-judging from the guy's clothes and demeanor…"

Sam nodded approvingly. "And that there's Yarrow somehow involved. Whatever that means… oh and probably a witch."

Dean looked up at that, curiosity spiking. "A witch?"

He really hoped Sam was wrong on that one…

He hated witches.

Sam crossed his legs and propped his head up on his hand, while the other one thumbed through the pages of the book in front of him.

"Think about it Dean- the use of herbs, the whole vanishing act, the way he kept talking about some woman- as if she was above him somehow- probably meaning he's working for her... oh and let's not forget the fact that witches appear in about every single fairytale in existence."

Dean took his brother's words in and pursed his lips in thought. "That would also explain who turned you into a freaking kid. Only question is what she wants from you…"

Sam rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Sure as hell didn't sound like she planned to take me on a picnic… "

"So maybe she's focused on kids somehow- holding a grudge against them? Do you know any stories where that's the case?"

Sam huffed, drawing random patterns into the mattress with his fingers. "Well… witches are supposed to the villains in the story, remember? They are hardly ever the child-loving, pie- baking Granny type, okay?"

Dean was about to get himself a beer from the fridge when he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

"What?" Sam frowned, noticing his brother's sudden shift in posture and expression.

Dean looked up to meet Sam's gaze, eyes bright and opened wide. "Something you just said… The thing about baking pie—"

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's childish behavior. "You and your freaking pie."

"No, shut up and listen for a second doofus," Dean interceded with a stern look. "Isn't there's this story- with these siblings that get turned into pie, or something?"

Sam's eyes lit up with a strange sense of dawning. "Hänsel and Gretel. Dean, you're a genius!" the teenager burst out, before starting to wildly page through the book, looking for that particular story.

Dean moved to sit down beside him on the bed and watched his brother's frantic searching. "So I take it you know what I'm talking about?"

"Yeah, man. I think you might have just gotten us onto something. Hansel and Gretel were lured in and captured by an evil witch who later on tried to fatten Hansel in order to bake him in an oven."

"Gotta love the good old stories…" Dean drawled out in a sarcastic tone, chuckling a little to himself. "So what… we are dealing with a cannibalistic sorceress with a flavor for kids? But that still doesn't explain why she's after you."

"No it doesn't," Sam agreed easily, rubbing his eyes. "And it also doesn't explain why she's de-aging adults when she could just go and snatch kids off the street."

Dean glanced over at his little brother, before taking the book from the mattress and closing it with a heavy sigh. "Alright, how about you get some rest, before we delve deeper into this? You look like you're two seconds away from face-planting into the pillow."

"Am not," Sam scoffed and caused Dean to chuckle in earnest.

"Well now you just look like a petulant toddler," he teased, poking Sam playfully in the side. "C'mon, time to hit the hay, man. You're dead on your feet."

Sam yawned again and that was as close to an actual answer as Dean was ever going to get.

"What are you gonna do?"

Dean seemed to think about it for a second before answering. "I guess I could use some shut-eye, myself."

He made to get up from the bed but Sam was quicker- wrapping thin fingers around the older man's wrist. Dean froze, shooting his brother a questioning look over the shoulder.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier today, Dean."

Dean sighed, tugging to free his arm from his brother's grasp. "Sam—"

"I've never thought of you as a deadbeat or as stupid. In fact you're the smartest person I know…" Sam bit his lip, eyes bashfully dropping to stare at the mattress.

"I've always looked up to you, you know— still do."

"Sammy, you don't have to—" Dean shook his head, emotions bubbling up inside of him.

His brother had always possessed the ability to turn him into a sentimental pile of mush with just a few well-picked words of honesty.

But it was the emotion in his little brother's eyes, the admiration he found in Sammy's vibrant gaze that really did him in.

And suddenly he found himself swallowing around a huge lump in his throat. "Listen, Sammy—let's just forget about it, okay? We were both exhausted earlier and said shit we didn't mean..."

Sam looked as if he had something else to say- mouth already half-opened in protest, but Dean beat him to it. "It's okay. _Really._ I believe you. Now go to sleep before you keel over, bitch."

Sam's lips twitched, pulling up at the corners and when Dean tried to get up again, the kid still wouldn't let go off his wrist.

"I'm gonna need that arm, eventually…" Dean stated on an exhale, shaking his head at his kid brother's stubbornness.

Sam moved over to the far side of the bad, trying to make himself smaller than he actually was and it was only then that Dean realized what his brother wanted from him.

Their day had been weird. Even more so than usually- what with getting shot and attacked and Sammy being turned into a kid and fighting with each other and trying to catch up with what happened- it had been_ one huge cluster fuck._

And at fourteen Sam was too proud to outwardly ask his big brother to share a bed with him, but Dean also knew that Sam had always appreciated physical contact in times of confusion and whenever he was worried- both of which was probably the case right now.

So there was no hesitation when he flopped back down on the pillow beside Sam's scrawny body.

He lifted an arm and waited a few seconds, looking straight ahead at the ceiling above their head when a familiar weight finally settled against his side, like a missing piece of his soul slotting back into place.

Right where it belonged.

Dean draped his arm over his brother's small frame and rubbed a palm over his bony shoulder.

"G'night, Dean."

"Night, Sammy," Dean softly gave back, feeling a heavy weight lift from his shoulders and a wave of peacefulness ebb through his veins.

It was odd how- despite everything- their bodies still fit together like two connecting puzzle pieces.

Dean closed his eyes and sighed, letting the steady beat of Sam's heartbeat lull him into blissful oblivion.

Somehow he couldn't fight off the feeling that this felt like the calm before the storm.

_**TBC...**_

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_Thanks for the support and for everyone who is still reading this story! Please let me know what you thought about the chapter and drop me a few words! ;) Reviews are very much appreciated! :D (I am trying to wrap up loose ends and will tie this story up within the next couple of chapters... 2-3 probably... some of your ideas will be used in before this story ends so stay tuned for the rest! ;)) Thanks again. Cheers!_


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